


Red Makes the Mission Go Wrong

by completelyhopeless



Series: Operation Red Dress [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Gen, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Pre-Avengers (2012), Pre-Bahrain, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 23:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2710262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completelyhopeless/pseuds/completelyhopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of the mission where May wore a red dress and Clint harassed Coulson about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Makes the Mission Go Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts).



> This is a start at filling [a request](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/578041.html?thread=80793337#t80793337) for the prompt: _[Avengers, movie verse, Clint, Natasha Trying to win the snarkfest even when taken prisoner, in the hospital, knee deep in enemies, while the rest of the team just rolls their eyes at them.](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/348394.html?thread=61365994#t61365994)_
> 
> After a misclick lead me to see [Seeing Red](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2705348) bookmarked as "Operation Red Dress," I kind of wanted to continue the operation.
> 
> I thought maybe this prompt could be the answer, but I couldn't quite get the taken prisoner, in the hospital, knee deep in enemies thing here, and I figure the Avengers should be in on this whole snark contest, but that felt kind of clunky and forced when I tried to add it on to this.
> 
> So I will call this part one of the fill and come up with an Avengers operation red dress angle.
> 
> I hope there's enough snark.

* * *

Their target not liking red was an understatement. The kind of understatement where things blew up, half the town was on fire, and a lot of people died. The property damage wasn't something Phil allowed himself to think about because he knew that kind of math would make his head explode, and the idea of trying to explain this to anyone was enough to make him contemplate leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. This should not have been that difficult an assignment.

Fury must have known it would be, otherwise he wouldn't have added May to the usual team of Barton and Romanoff, but as capable of an agent as she was, Coulson sometimes wondered if Fury was trying to kill him with all of this.

Barton would have said that May in that red dress was killing him—had said it, more than once in various ways over the course of the night—but it was more likely Coulson would develop an aneurysm after all these migraines he got working with Barton and Romanoff.

A stray bullet sometimes seemed like a kindness.

* * *

“Barton, you got eyes on the target?”

“You need me to have them because you can't stop looking at May?” Clint asked, knowing that if Natasha was close to him, she would have smacked him for it. Both she and Coulson were too far away to do anything about it, though, and messing with Coulson on the comms was too damn fun not to do.

“I'm starting to think it's not Coulson who has a thing for May but you,” Natasha muttered, and Clint frowned.

“I need a weapon,” May muttered. “It's not bad enough I have to act like some kind of sexist stereotype. If Barton is interested in me, I think I might have to shoot myself.”

“Wait. What is this? May is out snarking us, Natasha. This can't happen.”

“Barton—”

“Only you would care about that, Hawkeye.”

He snorted. “Don't pretend you don't, Widow. You snark me in every language you know.”

“Who needs snark when you are ignorant in as many languages as you are?” Natasha asked, her voice honey sweet.

“Hey!”

“Romanoff wins.”

“No one is winning anything,” Coulson said, and Barton could tell that he was pinching his nose in frustration. “This is not a contest. We need to focus on our objective. These men are our best lead toward finding the site of the original alien discovery. These smugglers are only our first link. We need them alive.”

“Considering that our secondary target took exception to my hair and tried to put my face into the bar for it, that may be difficult,” Natasha said. “I'm not sure he's getting up from that one.”

“Romanoff—”

“I told you blonds had more fun.”

“Statistically speaking, that's not true,” Natasha said. “Trust me, I've been a blond enough times to disprove that myth.”

“May, I think you need to try it and prove her wrong.”

“Did someone make you blind as well as deaf?”

“No, I just handed that one to you,” Clint said, shaking his head. “It's a shame, Natasha. You could have had that one, a few bonus points, but you let that one go to May. You're slipping. It's sad.”

“Are we on a mission here or in kindergarten?” Coulson asked. “Never mind. Kids in kindergarten are better behaved.”

“You know you love us,” Clint said. He raised his bow. “May, you got incoming. At least this guy seems to like the red. A lot, judging by the way he just started drooling. Looks like Phil's got competition.”

“No competition. Coulson has better ties,” May said, and Clint swore that Coulson choked a bit on the other end of the line. “I'll need a minute.”

Clint grinned. He was going to enjoy seeing this. “A whole minute, May? I'm disappointed.”

“Ten seconds,” she corrected, her hand reaching for the offensive tie and using it to draw the mark right into the table. His head connected with a crack that said the table was one hell of a solid wood. He went down. May came up with his gun, pointing it at his friend.

“I think you need a video of this, Coulson. It's hot.”

“There's something wrong with you, Barton.”

“He's a had a few too many blows to the head,” Natasha said. “The idiot seems to like them.”

Clint shrugged. “Hey, we all got our kinks.”

“That's not a kink. That's a psychological issue, and you should probably see someone about that,” Natasha told him. She let out a low Russian curse. “That's after we take care of his friends. They're big and ugly and I'm not their type.”

“I think I am,” Clint said as he lined up an arrow. “And I've got a few presents for my dates.”

* * *

“I know you find the weapons you need, but did you have to make one of them a Molotov cocktail?”

May shrugged, looking at the currently blazing building without a shred of remorse. Coulson would hate it. Natasha didn't care, personally, though she figured Clint wasn't happy about losing his place to perch. May probably should have warned him that the cocktail was headed his way, but considering the way he'd been baiting her all night, he should have expected it.

“Coulson's going to be disappointed. You ruined the dress.”

May would have hit him, but Natasha got there first. Clint rubbed his arm, looking around the ruins. “I think we won.”

Natasha gave him a look. “I wouldn't call this a victory. We didn't get the information we needed.”

“Bad guys are still dead.”

“They're not supposed to be dead,” May reminded him. Then she frowned, reaching up to touch her earpiece. “Coulson? You still there?”

The silence changed everything. Natasha looked at Clint, but he was already on the move.

* * *

“You should have minded your own business.”

Coulson shrugged. He didn't care if he was on his hands and knees, his hands behind his head. “We're terminally curious. It's kind of a thing.”

“Damn, Coulson, that was so my line.”

“Should have gone with terminally stupid,” Phil said, shaking his head as Barton walked up to them. What was Hawkeye doing walking up? Someone had to have taken his bow or his quiver. This wasn't his role. Phil would have expected May or Romanoff for this role. “You know you're walking into a trap, right?”

“Yeah,” Barton answered. “I lost at rock, paper, scissors.”

Phil shook his head. “That doesn't make any sense. Why wouldn't you have sent—No. Barton, tell me you did not do what I think you did.”

“I thought you didn't like it when I lied.”

“How big is the blast radius?”

“Well, it's Romanoff, so...”

Phil groaned.


End file.
